


Lick My Wounds

by troof



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gladiator AU, Haven't decided if this will end happily or not, M/M, More characters as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troof/pseuds/troof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren favors the idea of running off and becoming a gladiator. Even with Levi's help, he's not guaranteed a good life, and Levi is the best fighter there is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> "What kind of plan is that anyway? He wants to be Roman so badly that he thinks up something that has a beginning, but no end. He says he's going to let them take him when they come, and then do with him what they will? What if they kill him?"

Was it the fact that they had been friends for a long time, or Armin’s blond hair and blue eyes that made Eren incapable of listening to Armin’s orders? _Hide_ , he had said. He had yelled it, and Mikasa tried to grab him, but Eren dashed out into the fray like a child into the path of a horse as if said child were begging to be run over.

The Romans were invading his village, his stupid little village that started at the river and didn't even have the gall to settle up to the main road.

So he picked up a weapon and surrendered.

Later when he stared at the gore on his limbs and when the ache in his arms came back, he would remember that he had fought some of them because the coming of soldiers was the most exciting thing that had happened to date, in seventeen years. But with how soon it was over, it didn't matter. Eren found himself on the ground within what felt like seconds, with the futile hope that it all wouldn't end there.

There was a blade at his neck, and he said please. A word had never been so hard to push past his lips. Then he was turned face down so he couldn't see it anymore, only the shadow on the ground and the pressure exerted from his imagination refusing to let him believe the sword wasn't there.

And if everything did end, well, he still wouldn't have changed a thing.

Closer to the river, Armin had found an old wine cellar that stank of stale hay and dust to hide in for as long as they could. He was hesitant at first because he didn't know who it belonged to, but Mikasa pushed him in against the wall before he could think, and they sat together. He knew it was probably best to stay quiet, but the earthen walls and warm darkness made it easier to pretend they were safe, and it was okay to chance a whisper.

"I can't believe he went through with the plan," Armin said.

"I can," Mikasa said bitterly. "You can, too. What you mean to say is you can't believe he's gone. And what kind of plan is that anyway? He wants to be Roman so badly that he thinks up something that has a beginning, but no end. He says he's going to let them take him when they come, and then _do with him what they will?_ What if they _kill_ him?

What kind of a plan leaves everything to chance, and why was he stupid enough to do it?"

"You know Eren," Armin said, and as he did so he thought, _probably better than I do. We've grown up together, but you live with him._

"Do I know Eren? Sometimes I want to talk to him, but it's tough asking if he wants me to do him a favor when all he does is steer the conversation back to wanting to become part of 'the greatest empire on earth.'"

_Mom needs new fabric for our clothes. What's your favorite color, Eren?_

_Red._

_Why red?_

_For Rome._

_A messenger came from the west today. C'mon, Eren, let's ask if he has any news from the Black Sea. If trade's going well, then Dad should be back within the year._

_Okay. Hey, you think he'll ever tell us about his travels? He's probably seen Constantinople! With all the fantastic things he's seeing, how can you be sure he'll ever want to come back?_

Mikasa flinched at this last memory. It had been two years, and that's what had probably happened. Eren was the same. If he saw fantastic things, what would turn him back?

Nothing. Not her, not Armin. She knew Eren.

"He does that with me, too. I don't think he can help it."

"It's selfish," Mikasa said, pounding her fist on the box in front of her.

Armin knew that Mikasa's harping on all of Eren's bad qualities was just her  way of showing her grief after losing him, but in a way, most of what she was saying was true. But he felt he had to consider both sides.

It was still quiet as ever, the fighting contained in the desert and in the outer roads. Hopefully it would take a while before the soldiers started plundering.

"We're selfish, too. For wanting him to stay. Did you know that Hannes asked him about marriage the other day?"

"Marriage?"

"Yeah. He says his daughter's of age, and Eren's a little older, so it would be the perfect time for them to start a family." Mikasa found it difficult to imagine Eren with a family. The three of them might not hang out so much anymore, unless it was indoors watching children. Eren always had this energy she couldn't quite catch, and it was somehow wrong to imagine him stable.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing at the time, but when he told me about it he said that the only person he would ever marry is you, but he still wouldn't want a large family because then he could never leave the village. Of course you could take care of all the children yourself, but he'd never leave you like that," Armin answered.

Mikasa sighed and bowed her head into a small space where her knees were already close to her chest. She supposed she should feel touched at Eren's comment, but the truth was he would be horrible at getting to know anyone else. Eren had no chance of starting a family now, whether he wanted it or not, and the two of them were in danger of the same thing happening if someone stumbled into their hiding place. They had to trust in the dark.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier usually didn’t change the outcome of the whole war. However, one farmer could rebuild half the barn, and he had chosen to be a cute mockery of a soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the title because the original was something I typed in just to get the story up.

The sun having been visible in the east for two hours now, Eren stifled his yawn as best he could with the manacles encircling his wrists. Thankfully their clanking couldn’t be heard over the din of the wheels bumping along the cobbled road; he didn’t want the man next to him to wake up and turn to him as the only one conscious for comfort. If his newly-awakened eyes were going to be filled with dread, Eren wasn’t any better off. Eren was disoriented too and until the guilt in his chest faded, he didn’t know if there was anyone he could help.

He hadn’t anticipated feeling this reprehensible after leaving home, especially not this early in the morning. Arguing with himself, he knew that what he did wasn’t wrong—defending the people when he knew he didn’t have a chance was part of his inner recklessness that his friends knew him for—but he wished to leave, and now that he was gone, it was starting to look like abandonment. If he had stayed hidden, he probably could have helped rebuild the village and make a difference. One soldier usually didn’t change the outcome of the whole war. However, one farmer could rebuild half the barn, and he had chosen to be a cute mockery of a soldier.

Below him, Eren could see the street rushing by through the slats in the splintering planks that held together the bottom of the cart he was in as a prisoner. There were ten others in the cart with him, bloody, mournful faces, so he wasn’t sure how much longer it would hold out under their weight; he could easily picture them crashing through to the ground.

One time, when he and Armin were kids who couldn’t find proper amusement, a similar incident had happened when he suggested they jump on the row of crates he used for a bed. It wasn’t a few minutes after the straw started spilling out of the mattress like a waterfall that he and Armin were sitting on the ground among broken wooden boxes, laughing and afraid because they had no way to hide it from Mom.

She hadn’t been mad, strangely enough, but these people with their gleaming visors were another matter: not mothers, and definitely not full-time fathers who would think twice about calling Eren’s group a mess of slaves.

That word scared him half to death. His heart nearly dropped out of his chest.

_Slave?_

"Hey, hey! Stay calm," Morena, a boy from his village who had been taken with the rest of them, admonished at the same time he caught Eren's wrist. Without realizing it, Eren had leaned over the side of the cart and was raring to slam his fist into the helmet of the nearest guard.

"You so much as scratch our armor, you die on the spot," the guard warned. Eren would have said threatened, but that threat finally did him more good than harm by re-incentivizing his struggle to stay calm and allowing him to survive. In the brief minutes he had gone over the plan with Armin and Mikasa, he hadn't considered what would happen if he didn't end up where he wanted; he thought all young men would go to the arena, but realistically there were other possibilities: the house, for one. He could think of nothing more unappealing than being a house slave, fetching water and food every night until he collapsed under the weight of longing for everyone else's wealth. But he ended up a Thracian, so he could stop holding his breath. And there was a school for it, so he’d be okay.

Thracian gladiators were the ones who fought with swords and knives, and shields to contend with anything else the opponent could throw at them. They were pretty cool, and Eren could have been one right after dawn this morning if only the guy next to him had woken him up. They shared the same room, so it wouldn’t have been hard for him to lean over and tap Eren’s shoulder or nudge him with his foot or whatever was the custom here. But no, he had to be a dick and help him miss half of morning practice.

Yawning, he found his way to the arena outside. The wide sand-packed floor already had several groups of students engaged in their daily activities. Eren groaned to himself. He had no idea where he should be or if it even really mattered. Ideally he could find his roommate’s group and ask the other some more about this place, but the sun was blinding after coming out of the dark tunnel leading to his room.

Someone must have seen him, because they waved him over. Eren guessed this must be the guy—he couldn’t get a good look at his face before falling asleep—the room was dim anyway—but Eren couldn’t ask him anything because the instructor made him run laps and and clean up the weapons room for being late. Part of it was just regular strength training to make up for being new, but the rest was entirely his fault. He wasn’t sparring with anyone at the moment, so Eren caught his attention.

“So, are you the guy who shares my room?” Eren asked. The one he was talking to snapped his eyes away from watching another student fight and turned to him.

“Huh? Oh, probably. They brought someone new in last night, but I didn’t get a good look at his face. I assumed it was you when you came out late, though. I’m Jean.”

Eren was in the same situation. Their room had no windows, so there were only a few candles available for light. He squinted to get a better look through the sun. Jean’s long face, white teeth, and his manner in general gave him an impression of confidence.

“I’m Eren. But why didn’t you wake me up this morning?”

“I figured you’d be tired like everyone else who’s just been brought here, and I thought I’d let you catch up on sleep. I know I could use some extra sleep myself.” Even though it was his way of being nice, Eren didn’t appreciate the gesture. Thanks to Jean, he’d had to do extra workouts and it would probably be harder to wake up tomorrow.

“Next time, can you just get me up? It’s not that hard.”

“You know, when people get more sleep, they’re generally less cranky. And besides, it’s not my responsibility to make sure you get up every morning. The guards bang on the doors when it’s time to get up. I could probably ask you how you slept through it,” Jean said.

Eren didn’t hear any noise last night after he was led down to their sleeping quarters. He slept deep, and now, during the day, he still felt the impact of the journey from the village wearing on his limbs. He felt slightly ashamed at it having been his fault for missing the wake-up call, but he wouldn’t let Jean know that.

Eren excused himself by saying he must not have been feeling well. Either way, he was definitely ready for whatever the day could throw at him.

“I’d hope so with that extra hour of sleep,” Jean muttered. Someone behind him snickered. Eren swore that one day he’d smother this guy in his sleep. Despite Jean being the only one he knew, Eren wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. Unfortunately, they were at this place together, and he couldn’t really do that except by running away, so he bit his tongue.

Jean must have sensed his frustration, because he turned toward him and said, “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got? Wooden swords are along the wall.” Eren was surprised at first, but then he relaxed and thought it was a great idea. It was new to him, being in an environment where he was actually encouraged to solve disputes with fights instead of words. He could finally let something out.

Mikasa was always telling him that when he was mad, he should go off on his own and calm down before talking to another person, no matter how hard it was to tear himself away. He never had any place in mind when he went off to be alone, but somehow he always ended up throwing stones from the bank of the river. Then he would come back, and Mikasa would help him talk it out. Eren told himself that his fighting with Jean wasn’t going deliberately against what she told him. It just happened.

Avoiding the other students locked in combat and a frowning instructor moving from pair to pair—in the background he could make him out telling someone named Connie that there was no way he could do three on one—Eren found his way over to the practice weapons leaning against the curve of the arena wall. It looked like they had stood in order from shortest to tallest at one point, but so many had been taken up and replaced at this point that it didn’t matter. Eren picked a medium-sized sword and brought it back over.

“Ready?” Jean asked, smirking. He looked way too ready himself.

Eren tested the tip of the sword on his finger. Blunt, but it would have to do. “Ready,” he confirmed. Standing firmly on the ground, he could feel the grit pressing into the pads of his feet. His fingers sweated on the hilt. There was no way he was waiting for Jean to move first.

A voice interrupted him from behind. “Hold that correctly or don’t hold it at all.” Eren whirled around only to have the teacher snatch the sword out of his hands. Afterwards, he took Eren aside and showed him how to hold it properly as well as how to stand when he fought an opponent, but Eren felt robbed of his chance to hit Jean. Sure, they could go at it in practice again, but they would both be calm by then.

By the end of the evening, Eren had perfected a strike to the upper jawbone that he could make by extending his arm and twisting his wrist at the same time. If done with enough force, he could leave a mark either with the meat of his palm or a blade. He practiced it on empty air while he waited. Jean went off with someone else, so there was no point in waiting for him. His chest was rapidly expanding. Eren stood and caught his breath.

“Feeling better?” Jean asked the next time he saw Eren. He said he had only doubled back to make sure Eren found his way to the dining hall, since he seemed to think it was Jean’s job to take care of him.

“I am feeling better,” Eren informed him. “And that’s not true at all.” Smother. With a pillow.


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you new here?”  
> “Yeah.”  
> “I think that’s obvious, too.”

“I can’t believe he pulled us apart,” Eren remarked at dinner as soon as his mouth was free. As soon as they put the food out, Eren jumped right on it. He hadn’t been eating well for the past few days. The plate in front of him only held vegetables, but right now, they smelled delicious. “I mean, they want us to fight, so why didn’t they let us?”

Jean was sitting by his side, but Eren expected he would leave as soon as Eren got used to his routine.

“Yeah, our instructor’s really strict. When you’re practicing, he’ll step between you and your opponent to point out that you missed an opportunity to attack. Everyone else just shouts from the sidelines, but he interrupts the battle,” Jean said. So this meant Eren hadn’t been singled out for being new. Still, he didn’t want this treatment every day. He remembered standing in the sun, waiting for the master to explain everything piece by piece. He wanted to learn by doing.

“He made me practice the same move for two hours,” Eren said. “And it wasn’t even against anyone else. Just on my own.”

“Well, the good thing is, he’s not strict with punishments. This morning, when you were late, some of the other instructors would have hit you over the head _and_ made you run.”

Eren shrugged and finished the rest of his food. Rough treatment like that didn’t surprise him much—in fact, he had more or less expected it from all the rumors he had heard about this place over the years.

“That’s just how it is, isn’t it?” Eren almost felt cheated because his instructor _wasn’t_ overly violent.

“For the most part—unless you’re in our group. It’s like you get to choose between more time sparring and getting beat up or refining your technique. The survival rate’s a lot lower for us, you’d think he would have noticed that by now.”

The table shook as another student sat down across from them. Eren couldn’t be sure if he should recognize the big eyes and shaved head from their group earlier or not. This morning, while Eren tried to concentrate on his own training, everyone had looked to him like the same suit of armor. Jean acknowledged him with a nod.

“Hey, Connie,” he greeted.

“Hi.”

“Wouldn’t we learn more if the groups rotated every once in a while? If we start off with another instructor, and then come back to our current one to practice technique, we’ll be more well-rounded,” Eren reasoned. Jean said he should wait a while before he decided to change anything. Maybe it would work out better than he thought.

“Are you sure that’s not what we’re supposed to do?”

“Sure what’s not what we’re supposed to do?” Connie asked, turning away from someone else’s conversation and back to theirs. He hadn’t really been engaged anyway.

“Change instructors periodically to develop different skills,” Jean answered.

“I don’t know, that sounds like a great idea,” Connie said.

“But we’re not supposed to do it,” Jean argued. He was perfectly fine with his current mentor, even if he was less confrontational than the typical mentor. The benefit of staying with the same person was that—if you didn’t die in a fight—they would get to know you better over a long period of time. There would be a stronger bond. Eren was of a different opinion.

“Well, I’m changing the first chance I get. I was never officially assigned a group, I just sort of jumped in.” Later he suspected that mentors might have been assigned according to sleeping arrangements, but this had no bearing on his decision. He wanted more action.

Now that his stomach had stopped growling, Eren looked around. The table was filled all the way down with students stuffing their faces with the same meal he did. Eren was one of the few who had finished already. He focused his sights on the dim lanterns and the stone pillars that stretched all the way up to where they arched over the ceiling, and it almost made him feel like he was sitting in a ribcage. A stomach would have been more appropriate, but he had no idea how that could be represented with architecture. It was a nice setup nonetheless.

Connie was silent as he ate his food. Eren would say he looked awkward if he didn’t know any better. His head stayed down as much as possible, concentrating on the smears on his plate.

Normally, Eren would have Mikasa and Armin next to him and never have to interact with anyone else, but he was alone here. With the exception of Jean, of course, but there was no way he would be his only friend. Connie was worth a try, so he fished around for a conversation starter. All he could think of was the comment the instructor had made earlier.

“So, three on one, huh?” Eren asked, forcing a smile.

“Oh, that. We didn’t get to do it because the instructor told us not to,” Connie said. Yet another reason why Eren should switch.

“It’s still cool that you volunteered to do that, though.”

“I should probably make it clear that _I_ was part of the _three_. I wasn’t sure how effective I would be on my own, so I asked a couple friends to help me out. My partner was all for it.” That wasn’t what Eren was expecting. Back home, he had imagined all these students as a group of collective juggernauts who thought together, fought together, and feared nothing—that’s the ideal he had looked up to—but from what he had heard, Connie wasn’t like that at all. Maybe he hadn’t spent as much time here as the others.

“Are you new here?” Eren asked.

“No, I’ve been here for five months. Why?”

“Three gladiators doesn’t seem like such a big deal to fight on your own. If you’re fast enough, you could probably just turn it into three one-on-ones in quick succession.”

Connie pulled a face. “Are you kidding? That’d be too simple. More like they rush you all at once and then you wake up in a pool of blood on the floor. Are you new here?”

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s obvious, too.” Connie finished his drink and got up to wait outside, and Eren followed him because he was tired of waiting for Jean. No, for the rest of the night, he still had enough weathered optimism to stand on his own.

The steps leading down from the viewing section to the wall around the arena floor were cut in a straight diagonal line along the most direct way possible. They were perfectly visible from the arena, too, in all their emptiness. The more time Eren had to stare at them during practice, the more he thought a spiral staircase would be more fitting, one that wound down and down like the ruined quality of his mornings in his training group. Thankfully, the instructor stopped singling out Eren for being new after the first day, but there was still no end to the structured exercises, repeated motions, and other techniques that allowed no room for spontaneity.

During the next particularly long lecture, Eren let his eyes wander. Jealousy stirred in his stomach at the sight of swords flashing in the sun. And these were real, not the wooden ones he was restricted to himself.

If he had to pick a new mentor, he would pick...that one there, in the group nearest to him over by the exit doors. It was hard to keep an eye on him as well as keep up with his own training, but Eren managed somehow. At least, he thought he did. Jean said he was being neglectful and proceeded to sock him for it, but Eren couldn’t have cared less. Even when someone trod on his foot and yanked the stick out of his hands, Eren preferred to watch the short gladiator across the way.

But he was still out of reach.

At first he stood out, and while Eren took comfort from the fact that someone so amazing practiced behind him at the same time he was doing his own boring exercises, he couldn’t figure out why. What he did was too brutal to be called graceful, but every movement was fluid. He was short, but that wasn’t it. His group looked more organized than Eren’s, so maybe it was the way he carried himself, his air of authority. Eren had never admired that in anyone before, and he wasn’t even sure if he could. He had always had trouble with that in his village.

Eren learned that his name was Levi. Of course he had changed it to something else after becoming a fighter so he could sound more Roman, but to Eren he was Levi.

He had never wanted and wanted to be with someone like this before. Any time his mind wasn’t occupied with strategy, he would think about what he could learn if he were assigned to Levi’s group, and the _want_. A few times he came close to just leaving his group and walking over there, but something told him it was a bad idea.

_Don’t, don’t, don’t,_ he had to keep reminding himself. What was worse, Levi never removed his helmet, so Eren was left to guess at his face from the rest of his anatomy. Did he have a hooked nose? A straight one? Cheekbones maybe, but with brown eyes or blue? The picture he created in his mind was no more than wishful thinking, a conglomerate of all his hopes and expectations into one. He had to know if he was right.

It took a while, but he did find out what was different about Levi in the end.

“How can anyone be smiling in the middle of this heat?” asked a student in Eren’s vicinity. There was another delay before Eren realized he was talking about him. The smile turned into a grimace as Eren realized he would probably be this guy’s next opponent.

He got ready to fight, in the proper stance this time, unable to get out of his head the fact that Levi was left-handed. How had he not noticed before? It seemed obvious now, and was something he should have noticed immediately when sizing up someone in a fight. He must have taken for granted the fact that everyone fought with the same hand. Using your left was supposed to be bad luck, but maybe that was different here.

Eren had no problem with it himself. Superstitions like that were only a minor worry, and since Mikasa didn’t believe in any of them, Eren had learned to keep them in his head. This time, Levi’s being left-handed was a blessing because it gave Eren an idea of how to get out of his current group.

“Ready to go down?” Eren baited his partner. He had improved over the past few weeks, and if he didn’t mess up, he was going to win.

“Not yet,” his partner said, and Eren knew this was the perfect opportunity. What he was about to do was cheating his partner out of a good fight and probably himself of some self-esteem, but even if he had to start his training all over again, it was going to be worth the sacrifice. It wasn’t giving up. It was just weighing things out differently, like when a vendor in the marketplace welcomed a robbery just so he could involve his bodyguards.

Anyway, Eren knew had lost as soon as he switched his sword to his left hand. Nothing felt right anymore: his grip was wrong, the instrument was too heavy. He couldn’t even move his wrist like he used to before. There was a lag between how he envisioned being able to move and the speed with which he carried out the motions that was probably an extension of the weight problem, and confusion that came from completely upending Eren’s idea of balance. Something felt off, but feeling the sword in his weaker left arm and the strength his right held on its own, he could almost see how he would have an advantage if he jabbed with one hand and punched with the other. Future thinking. He couldn’t do anything now.

His mentor yelled at him for dropping in speed and agility and all those other qualities, and Eren couldn't count the number of times he had used the tail of his shirt to wipe his brow or tasted dust in his mouth from a nasty fall, but he played the left hand card until Levi came over to stop him from being so dreadful.

So Eren was relegated to the clumsiness of a regular beginner. It was a major setback, but it was the best he could do. If Armin had been with him, he could have come up with a way to achieve the same end without this great inconvenience, and this is why Armin usually made the plans, not Eren. Eren stanched that flow of thought before it could bleed any further.

“Where are you going?” Jean asked next morning when Eren broke away from the group. Eren waved his left hand in the air as part of his explanation.

“New group.” Jean watched him go with a mixture of awe and confusion. Eren couldn’t help but be smug that he had proven Jean wrong. He _could_ change groups, and he had.

Satisfied, he fell in with Levi’s students and tried to refrain from flailing around too much, but the weapons they practiced were different from what he had been using, so he wasn’t used to those either. A few times Eren was tempted to check his armor to make sure it would still keep him safe. He hadn’t received this many blows to it since the beginning of training.

From here he could look back at his old group from a distance. Minimal armor, torn clothes—they looked just like everyone else. He couldn’t see a single familiar face from this distance.

Wordless, Levi handed him a helmet.

“Is this right?” Eren asked after he fit it on his head. It felt comfortable enough, if just a little low over the eyes.

“Tip it back more.” Eren did so. He didn’t receive a nod or any other signal of approval, but he didn’t receive a reprimand, so he assumed he had done it right. Levi followed his example shortly after, and Eren had to stop himself from ducking to see what was underneath his helmet.

“So, how’d you end up in the wrong group all this time? I know there are a lot of people here, but you should have mentioned it earlier,” Levi said.

“I didn’t know who to talk to, sir. No one asked me questions or told me anything. I doubt anyone here even knows my name.” No, he had had to rely on Jean for information. He didn’t think it would be to his benefit to mention that he was late to practice on the first day. That was still Jean’s fault in his mind, anyway.

Levi waited.

“Well? What is your name? No one’s going to know your name unless you tell it to them. You’re not famous yet.”

“Oh! Right.” Eren felt ridiculous for forgetting to introduce himself. He was expecting Levi to do it first. “I’m Eren Jaeger. Are you famous, sir?”

“Depends on whom you ask. Why?”

Eren grinned. “Because you still haven’t told me _your_ name.” Levi knocked him down for that. It didn’t hurt too much, but Eren was going to be indignant until he looked up. If he had been standing, his stomach would have bottomed out.

He had hard eyes, and for a second, Eren was afraid they had never seen mercy. Everything about him was light: his skin, the blue of his eyes, his stance on the ground, until it was heavy. He carried a curved knife in his hand, and before Eren could answer, Eren was flat on his back with him on his stomach. He was a solid weight then, and with the sun off his face, Eren could see the dark shadows under his eyes and an angry expression twist otherwise delicate features.

“Levi Ackerman. I see you’re quite sassy today, but keep your mouth shut until you can fight. Try to throw me off.”

Eren wriggled back and forth at first, but when he saw that that got him nowhere, he tried arching up to get Levi’s weight off of his stomach. He was almost successful in flipping over onto his stomach, but Levi got off before he had the chance. Eren was almost glad. He was sick of feeling like a fish on land today, and Levi was a lot heavier than he looked.

“What are we doing first?” Eren asked.

The plan was to review what the other students had learned in the original lesson, but this time tailored to work with the other hand. Eren thought Levi was rather disappointed with his progress for that day, but he didn’t dwell on it.

 

 


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Levi didn’t like him back, that small press of lips that startled him was nothing more than a test. One that could evaluate, classify, and estrange.

“Ow! What was that?” Eren yelled. Something just hit his shoulder from the general direction of Jean’s bed. He couldn’t see what it was in the dark, but after finding the item on the floor, he figured it was a shoe of some kind. “Did you just hit me with your sandal?”

“I was waking you up. You know, to make sure you didn’t sleep through practice again,” Jean defended himself.

“That’s no excuse to throw something. How sleep-addled do you have to be to think throwing a sandal at someone to wake them up is better than getting up and tapping him on the shoulder? We sleep ten feet apart.”

Eren might have accepted Jean’s answer of “It worked, didn’t it?” if the banging of the guards on the doors hadn’t come two seconds later. Eren narrowed his eyes. Jean had flung a shoe at him early in the morning before the wake-up call? Now he regretted not having the opportunity to go at him in practice. That would have been good.

He still ate with Connie in the breakfast hall, too. Vaguely, he mentioned a fight that was coming up soon that a lot of them would be participating in. It would be a big one, with half the city—probably less, in all reality, there wasn’t enough room on the benches for that many spectators, but half the city would definitely try—coming to see them. People loved athletic slaughter.

The mentors ate in the same room this time, and Eren thought he saw Levi staring at him a few times, but he ignored it. Levi had been staring at him a lot lately. When he ate, when he fought, when he bathed. The last one was more than a little unsettling, but Eren could ignore that too by pretending to be absorbed in washing the dirt off his skin. If his cheeks flushed, that was because the water was too hot. He couldn’t stand it for long. Between the people and the temperature, he was always the first one out, regardless of the fact that the tiled bathroom with all its cracked mosaics was one of the nicest facilities available to use.  

The hot water brought out his soreness, and he was never eager to go to practice the next day, but here he was again with the sky and the stone and the hard sand floor. Which, by the way, was so unforgiving that it might as well have been stone too. Levi was waiting for him this time. He had his helmet off, but his hair was slightly mussed from wearing it for so long.

“Levi, I—”

“You’re not left-handed,” Levi stated, arms crossed. He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look angry either. If he was talking with anyone else, Eren would have made an excuse, but he was pretty sure Levi would see through it immediately.

“No, I’m not.” In case Levi wanted to hear him admit it. “But I’ve used this hand to fight with for the last week and a half, so I’m almost left-handed.”

“I don’t think that counts.”

“I’m more left-handed than the rest of the people here.” Levi sighed, tapping his finger against his bicep.

“Yeah, but only when it comes to fighting. You use your right hand for everything else, and some of your motions look stiff. I’ve been teaching for ten years, I can tell when you’re lying.” Eren stiffened. The way Levi cut through his nonsense reminded him of the way his mom spoke when he was caught playing where he shouldn’t, only much scarier. Since being in this school was technically a punishment already, the worst that could happen was he would be sent back to the group he started in. If it wasn’t something physical. Eren shuddered.

“Do you like being in trouble, Eren?”

“No, sir.” Levi creased his eyebrows in puzzlement. The question seemed simple enough. Levi didn’t put much emotion into his voice, but he didn’t sound like he meant to tease or incriminate. It was a straightforward question, and Eren had answered accordingly.

He wanted to figure out why this student was acting to be something he clearly was not. He wasn’t good at it, he wasn’t good enough to have been sufficiently bored enough to seek out a challenge, and he wasn’t seeking trouble. By changing the hand he fought with, there was no doubt Eren sought out Levi to begin with.

When he figured it out, Levi kicked himself and vowed to land as many bruises on this kid as he could.

“Shame. Put your shield up. We’re done for today.”

“What? Why?” Eren whined.

“I need to eat too, just like the rest of you.” Now that Eren looked around, it was getting dark out, and the arena was almost empty. He hadn’t realized it was time for dinner. Whenever he involved himself in training, the blood flowed everywhere else and his stomach forgot it had a purpose.

“Oh. Right.” Eren tried to hide his disappointment as he went inside to hang the round piece of wood on the wall. He couldn’t think up a sufficient excuse for Levi to eat with him, so he went to his usual place like he always did, but he was still smiling because Levi hadn’t kicked him out.

It was his second month here, and he now had three friends instead of two. The girl he just met didn’t sit with him—Eren didn’t see her in the dining hall at all—but Eren felt like he could count her as one of them. She was his sparring partner from the time he joined Levi’s group. Her name was Annie, and she seemed to be fond of aiming for his ribs because he got an unnecessary kick in them every time he fell. Annie was the only female fighter in the group. Eren had never given it much thought before, but there were many things here that he hadn't counted on. He wondered if she ever got lonely, but her face told him she wasn't that kind of person.

She offered to take him around the city on the days they had free, but after Jean found out, he tagged along until they both became too obnoxious for Annie’s tastes. Eren tried to lock Jean in his cell to save his next outing—Annie gave great tours of all the stately buildings and monuments—but it was already a lost cause. Eren slapped his leather pack down on the bench next to him and flicked his gaze up to the sky. It was morning now, and the clear blue color that brought calm and relaxation to anyone who took the time to look up.

Connie was at the bakery, but Eren’s interest in that place was little to none. He didn’t want any more bread. Bread was common, coarse, just like everything else he’d had in his whole life. At home, they had so much he could pile himself in. He wasn’t interested.

But the sky wasn’t interesting either, so…

It was so quiet. He heard Levi sit down next to him.

“Come down and practice.” Then he walked back out of sight, presumably down to the arena, or maybe just somewhere to get out of the sun. Escaping the heat was Eren’s second occupation these days. No greeting, no acknowledgment that Eren was any different from any of his other students. He wasn’t, but he thought that he had at least made an impression on him the other day.

Eren didn’t mind using the time for extra practice. Unlike most weeks, this rest day felt like what would happen if the sands of time in the sifter suddenly turned to mud, clogging up every pore letting everything flow smoothly. Not that anything could actually get wet here unless it was coated in sweat or the clouds finally decided to drench their day and make everyone even more miserable. Still, sitting around felt lazy. Lousy. Like his feet were glued to the ground. So he sighed and followed him down.

The steps were slippery. Had someone been cleaning? In the absence of a handrail, Eren had to be more careful than usual—if he cracked his head open, it would be worse here because his injury still wouldn’t be anything special and probably not even the worst fall of the day.

The only thing different about today was that Levi had decided not to wear his armor in the arena, instead opting for a brown tunic that had obviously seen lots of wear. That, and they were alone. Eren could practically hear the wind whistling through the pillars at the top of the stadium.

“Do you want me to suit up, or can I stay in this?” Eren asked. Levi hadn’t told him to change, but he wanted to make sure.  
“You’re fine. We’ll be using wooden swords today, unless you’re eager for impalement.” Eren made a face.

“We’ve never come close to doing anything that damaging in practice. It’s mainly just little jabs and scratches. Sometimes someone’ll land a particularly hard blow on your arm, but it’s not like the force of it with a real sword would have cut off a limb or anything.”

“You’ve been in the wrong group for too long, then,” Levi said with a smirk. “But no. You always want to follow through with your strokes in a competition, even if it does mean cutting off someone’s limb. If you want to win.”

Eren nodded, making a mental note of that for later. Swing through, push through, through his doubts, himself, his physical limits, and anyone holding him back. Through people. But this is what he wanted, right?

He went inside briefly to grab a practice sword from where they were stashed on irregular days like this one. Weighing it in both hands, he tried to compare it to the feel of steel against his palm as if the hand he held it in made a difference.

“Hey, do something for me?” Levi’s voice echoed around the tunnel.

“What?”

Eren was curious for a second until Levi stalked over to him and yanked the sword out of his left hand only to put it in his right. “Stop pretending.”

“Oh, sorry. Right.”

“If you keep making a mess of yourself for my sake, you’re going to die when it comes down to it.”

Eren wondered what his face looked like the moment he realized Levi knew exactly what he was doing. A reflection would have showed a startled cross between surprise and embarrassment, he guessed, all over three words. _For my sake_. And it was. Levi patiently watched the dawning of these expressions on his face, and as for him, Eren couldn’t tell whether he was impatient or just faintly amused.

This time, he was glad he could release his feelings through physical contact. He wasn’t sure it was a good habit to make in the long run, to get his feelings so closely tied in with his fighting, even if they provided an extra boost. Excitement and anger could be fuel, but they could just as easily be turned against him to distraction that fuzzed his thoughts. When that happened, he’d be a package his opponent could pick apart just by cutting the strings. He lunged at Levi but forgot that he didn’t fight like everyone else. He came at Eren from the wrong side and brought them to a stalemate much faster than Eren would have liked.   
Eren wanted to know how he found out. And how much did he know? Originally he had only wanted to be with him because he looked like a capable teacher, but then it had morphed into wanting him as romantically as you could get in this setting. Did he know that part? Denying it wouldn’t help him achieve his goals, but it was the only thing he could think to do. Eren put his sword down.

“I wanted to be with you because you looked like a good fighter from where I was standing,” he admitted, which was half the truth. He hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble for that—the reason was innocent enough.

“And most people would have been content with staying right there. Most people are scared to fight me, but for some reason you were still new and eager to have your ass handed to you. I assumed rumors going around said I was strict and drank the blood of my enemies with dinner, but you saw past that all because I was a ‘good fighter’. Do you want me to congratulate you?”

So his explanation wasn’t good enough. Eren wanted to roll his eyes to celebrate the fact that this was probably a lost cause now anyways.

“Yes.”

“Congratulations.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No. I just expected something different is all.” They were still pretty close from when they stopped practicing, so Levi tugged Eren’s head the short distance down to meet his lips. His grip was so tight that Eren was amazed how he could be so gentle with his lips and make his hair cry at the same time. He would ignore the last part if it meant he could breathe against Levi’s lips and touch them with his own. It was worth anything.

Then Levi let go as if he couldn’t have one without the other, but he was just checking Eren’s reaction, brows dimpled in thought. Eren almost panicked, trying to think of the way he was supposed to look, what expression would show he was interested but not overly smitten, because if he was, how would he not seem like a foolish boy he could walk away from? If Levi didn’t like him back, that small press of lips that startled him was nothing more than a test. One that could evaluate, classify, and estrange.

But Levi was right here, and even if it was, when would Eren ever get a chance to kiss him again? Aware of Levi’s weapon held to his chest, Eren took his chances and met his lips again. Levi’s reaction was so genuine, Eren wondered what it was he’d been waiting for.

He was wrong earlier about a scratch having to accompany any soft touch Levi gave him, he thought as Levi’s hand relaxed in his hair and slid down to rest on the nape of his neck. His whole body seemed to relax minutely, if what Eren saw through his half-closed eyelids was accurate.

Levi almost dropped his sword.

They would never talk about this.

“What do you drink with dinner?” Eren asked when they had pulled apart.

“Posca.”

“That vinegary stuff? I can tell,” Eren said, a smile on the corner of his lips. Just barely. Levi didn’t let him taste his tongue, but it slipped out a few times, and he thought it carried the faint remnants of the acidic drink.

“You could have pulled away at any time. Let’s put this stuff away since we probably won’t be using it anymore tonight,” Levi said, gesturing to the objects they had pulled out of storage earlier. Eren watched as Levi moved around the floor, then hung his sword up next to Levi’s. Levi’s mouth curved into a frown.

“I’m curious. What are you hoping for out of all this?” Levi asked. “Sex?” Eren couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t laid a hand anywhere below Levi’s shoulders outside of practice—his eyes had wandered, but that was a different thing, still within the radius of speculation that gave him boundaries he wasn’t sure he could overstep—and now he jumped to this?

“What? No, I just—liked you, I guess. And that was after I met you, I didn’t change groups because of it. I didn’t even think that was going to go anywhere! Besides, you kissed me first,” he added childishly, despite knowing that a fine point of any argument could be picked apart between heated “he started it”s,“he was second”s and so many “but”s thrown in between until it became an insult or some adult stepped in and pointed out that it took two people to fight or whatever they had ended up doing. Kissing. That took two people, and he thought Levi had liked it, too.

“I’m not arguing,” Levi said. “It was an honest question. People don’t live long here, maybe six or seven months at most. And that’s _good_.” Levi was worried about him. “Though I suppose,” he said, giving it more thought, “everything would still be rosy for you until you died. You’d get to enjoy me for the rest of your life.”

Eren was now beginning to understand Levi’s hesitation to show private affection for him. If he were in Levi’s place, he wouldn’t want to love a student who would die on him at the next event. The city was always celebrating something. Death would be a part of his life soon, provided glory didn’t overshadow grief.

He needed to change his mind. “Yeah, but it’s you training me. How can I die with a mentor like you?”

“Because I can only do as much for you as you do for yourself. It depends on you in the end. I didn’t think anyone with a mentor like me could be as naive as you are, but here you are. What the fuck do you think I am? Some free pass to immortality? My students have died before.” _While I watched_ , he wanted to add, but he couldn’t make himself say it.

“I don’t think of you like that!” Eren spat. “My intention was to learn what I could so I could draw out the time I have here playing your deadly sport. I like this. Do you know what I did to get here?” Levi paused, awaiting an explanation. Eren ached to tell him, but he knew it would only make him seem rash in Levi’s eyes. He wasn’t good with words anyway. And what if hearing himself retell his own story made it sound foolish in his own mind? What then?

Other students could be seen filing in through the entrance, carrying whatever they had brought from the crowded city. Levi took it as his cue to go. “I hope you have a nice, long career then. Just know that once the public gets an appreciation for you, they’ll drag you out again and again until you barely want to stand." Returning, he made a point of choosing a different hall than the one they had come down. This one led to his private quarters. Eren called after him. Damn him, because he made Levi listen.

“I’ll let them, and I’ll stand on my own account. I won’t die. I swear it, Levi.”


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hercules was Armin’s thing—not because he could identify with having such strength, but because the idea of being born strong was fantastic enough to run with for miles in his head. The idea that those who were strong would be noble like him was also something he wished for. If that was true, Eren would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armin and Mikasa have ventured away from their village to find Eren. There's a couple chapters left before anything really explicit, so maybe I'll tone down the rating…for now…*creep face here*

Armin used to wonder extensively whether the village was as displeasing to Mikasa as it was to Eren. Eren was never quiet about that, but when Mikasa hated something, she would hold it in and let it stew for years without showing anything on the outside. He was still waiting for an answer because now that they were outside it, gone to find Eren, she didn’t even show a marked difference—no relief that they were gone, no sadness that they had left. Just urgency. Mikasa kept the same attitude, the same expressions, and the same habits  that she did at home when possible. The five nights they had been gone wasn’t long enough for anything to change.

For example, Armin had always, and from what he discovered would always, be the first to fall asleep, his eyes closing on him without fail any time he lay down for seven minutes in a comfy bed. It wasn’t any different out here. He wasn’t good at staying up late into the night. His village was a quiet town, but whenever that one kid subverted every parent’s wishes and gathered all the local teenagers for a midnight party by the river, Armin could never stay awake through the whole thing. No one cared much because he wasn’t an outgoing personality and didn’t have enough of a presence to be missed, but a few pretended in the hopes that next time he would come up with some of Eren’s dad’s imported alcohol even though he had said several times he wasn’t going to do it. There was no way he was going to steal so some strangers could have a good time. Eren thought he was too good for them and never came at all. Armin couldn’t tell him what he was missing because he opted to stay home permanently after one point and count the sheep in his own yard. Falling asleep was easy. It was so easy to get lost in thought. Warm darkness had a way of taking even the most complex matters and molding them into dreams that lasted for hours. Falling asleep was easy.

Staying that way was the hard part. For Armin had also always, and from what he discovered would always, be a light sleeper. The sheep in his yard were loud. The room was dark, the ceiling was bare.

But here there was no ceiling, Armin realized as his eyes opened on a clear sky and the thousands of stars above. Mikasa had woken him murmuring in her sleep again. If he listened closely, he could tell she was calling her brother, but he couldn’t listen without her stress affecting him too.

_One more night. We can make it._

The night wasn’t as calm as he first thought. There was too much worry and the constant threat of robbers dwarfed the very real problem of sand creeping into his blankets. Finally Armin couldn’t take it any more and shoved off his bedding so he could roll over and wake Mikasa.

_Eren—_

“Huh?” she mumbled, trying to reorient herself and rub her eyes at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

Although Armin wasn’t afraid of the dark, having a friend awake next to him made him breathe more easily. It was easier to convince himself that the sand was gone, there were no robbers, and since Mikasa was awake now, no more vagabond murmurs of their worries floated off into the desert air. Armin saw no need to remind her.

“Shh. We’re fine.” He needed an excuse now. “I just thought you might like to see the sky.” They didn’t sleep outside much at home—if they were looking for the bright side in their current situation, this was it, white pinpricks scattered in the sky like the holes left in a quilt once you pulled out the embroidery. One, because they were no better than decoration, which seemed so useless on a trip like this—the horses followed the road, so there was no need to use the stars for direction—and two, because that quilt was what you curled up in when someone was gone. If Armin could forget why they were here for just a second, he could enjoy the stars like they used to.

Mikasa flicked a glance towards the sky and turned back to Armin. “I thought there would be danger. We’ve had a smooth trip so far and it seems too good to be true.”

Armin considered her words. They had been lucky so far, but he didn’t think they were in any danger because of it. “No, we’re fine,” he reassured her. “I don’t think anyone’s even driven past us since we threw down our stuff here.” He checked the road again to make sure. The path was empty except for shallow footprints. No sound came from that direction. The snort of one of their horses startled them both, beginning the struggle to relax all over again. “Have you noticed how we only ever hear the bad stories? When everything goes smoothly, there’s no story to recount. There’s no rumor to spread.”

“And some of those that do are exaggerations, but that’s no reason not to be vigilant.” Mikasa pushed herself into a sitting position. From here she could feel the ache lying on the hard ground had caused her back. She told herself she deserved it for taking a break even though one was needed. “You know, thanks for waking me up. I shouldn't have fallen asleep so easily." She grit her teeth.

_I know I need to rest. We won’t get anywhere if we keep pressing on, she kept telling herself. But it doesn’t have to be comfortable._

Armin tried not to get frustrated that his diversion wasn’t working. He would have to try harder. What if he guided Mikasa’s attention to a specific constellation in the sky? Hercules was a good one, and it was right there, too. "Four stars in the center you can connect to make a sort of rhombus shape, and then those off to the side are the arms and legs."

"I don't see it."

"Here, follow my arm." Armin shifted over to Mikasa's side and pointed along her line of sight. Mikasa squinted her eyes and moved around. She didn't ask any further questions, so he assumed she had either found it already or didn't care. She had some, but she didn’t think they were worth asking.

"What if I drew it in the sand? Then you could match my drawing to the shape in the sky," Armin said. Mikasa nodded.

He started with the four dots making up the torso, the first part he had described, and then glanced up to the constellation itself to figure out where to place the outlying dots. Once Mikasa had gotten a good look, he connected them with a thin line to make a picture. It took a while, but she eventually found the right place. "I see it," she said. "But it doesn't look much like Hercules to me."

"Well, he's sideways," Armin said, outlining his drawing with the shape of a human body. "Look." And Mikasa did, again.

"It's a stretch." True, but seeing countless maps and charts with the same labels had imprinted its name on his mind. Armin couldn’t associate that cluster of stars with anyone other than that Greek hero. Whether it looked like a horse, a dancer, or anything else he could think of, it would have to be named Hercules.

"I didn't come up with these, I'm just telling you what other people call them."

"Why do you care what others call them?"

"So I can enjoy the same ideas with other people without having to explain too much. It's like a game. You try to find as many as you can, and the whole time you’re seeing from another person's point of view. What does it look like to you?"

Mikasa took a while to respond. Armin thought she had fallen back asleep when she answered, "Like a letter of some kind. I’m not very creative." She was exhausted.

Still, she laid there on her back for at least an hour or more, hands pillowed behind her head and watching the sky. The silence was comforting. Just because constellations weren't her thing didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the night sky.

Hercules was Armin’s thing—not because he could identify with having such strength, but because the idea of being born strong was fantastic enough to run with for miles in his head. The idea that those who were strong would be noble like him was also something he wished for. If that was true, Eren would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this has been in my notes for quite some time as just the "Gladiator AU" but today I've finally decided to put it up. Tags aren't complete (there's more than four characters), but I didn't want to clog up the description, so I left a few out. Sorry about any glaring historical inaccuracies; criticism is appreciated!


End file.
